nevermoreternity

[nevermoreternity]

Apologies for the inactivity, I'm planning on posting various posts this week to make up from it, hopefully. Requests are still open and I'll be actively answering. Please read my pinned rules to be aware of what I write and not, I updated it a bit.

— 'Orpheus'

[nevermoreternity]

Hello ! How do you do ?

May I ask for an headcanon for Andrew Kreiss with a reader that is very head in the cloud and has verh creative ideas ? Like, they enjoy writing poetry, they get lost when they speak about topics they love and they constantly stumble because theh can't help looking at the sky

I thought it might be cute !

Thank you !

"That does indeed sound cute."

𝗪𝗛𝗬.

You were an individual rather devoid of thoughts.

Or perhaps, the right term would be that you were too deep into your own mind.

Or, is it that you're just... that simple-minded.

The gravekeeper had pondered over these theories for a while ever since he met you. An airhead, is what he would refer to you by.

He could count the amount of times you'd space out during a conversation, whether with him or someone else. The way you slowed your words until eventually falling quiet, eyes fixated on a certain area before your focus snaps back to the present. At first, Andrew thought you were a bit rude, especially when you were the one who came up to him first before giving him such a blank stare. Twinges of concern and suspicion flickered in his expression when you chatted about your interests before trailing off and staring distantly at the sky. Andrew couldn't understand what could have gathered your attention at that point, unable to spot anything apart from the spots of clouds.

“What's so interesting about the sky?”

Andrew noticed it was a pattern for you to stare at the vast sea of blue and white. Whether he found you like that already, or if you trailed off as usual to think, your eyes would always end up sliding up to gaze at the sky. So, when he felt confident enough to do so, he asked you about it. About what gravitated you to look up in pondering quiet, letting silence mix in with the wind. In a vague corner of his mind, another concern popped up about the sun burning your eyes with how long you would space out at times.

When you finally turned to him, or whether you just kept your eyes serenely trained up above, he wouldn't inquire any further. Regardless of your answer, Andrew drops the topic. Unable to get a fulfilling answer, he instead tilts his own head upward. The sky was simply the sky in his perspective — was it the cloud shapes that intrigued you? Was it the color? He didn't understand the appeal. Or maybe the albino just lacked the abstract view you had. He wouldn't know. At the time, he doesn't think he really wants to know either.

Andrew could feel himself regretting opening the door to his room, your familiar figure now stood inside of his small abode. You were rather persistent in your own way or maybe you found yourself waltzing in, maybe he even invited you in himself. Either way, it didn't matter because here he sat on his bed watching and listening to you with reluctance. It wasn't that he felt rude, he just couldn't figure out how to keep up with you. You spoke with a certain cadence in your voice, a spark in your eyes as you rambled to him about some creative expressive piece you've been keeping in the works. A canvas painting of some sort, or a new sentence jotted down in your journal, or a new picture you took of something others would find mundane.

How could someone have so much energy yet none at the same time?

How could someone wander life in such a daze yet have such a sharp spark when speaking of their passions?

Andrew pursed his lips, unable to find a conclusion for either question.

You continued talking, but it was inconsistent. A sudden pause in your step, a stumble in your words as you tried to find the right terms to describe yourself, even a lack of a reaction from him goes unnoticed as your focus drifts from his dusty shelves to his window. His window had its curtains blocking the light, you pointed out.

Andrew didn't know how to reply to your small observations, leaving the room in awkward silence when you cut your rambling off with a questioning stare. He stared back, not knowing where else to look, and so you stared at each other, until you began to look uncomfortable. Or wait- no, you had that distant look in your eyes that signaled you were deep into your own mind once again. He calls your name out hesitantly, waiting to see your eyes regain focus back onto him, realizing you had lost yourself in mental clouds yet again. The pinch of annoyance was familiar by this point, but he kept such a thought to himself, clutching the crucifix around his neck with a sigh instead.

He rubbed the necklace between his thumb and index finger before quietly asking you to resume speaking, recalling your last sentence to pick up where you left off.

You were simply confusing,

Andrew would conclude.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

“What are you doing?”

Andrew asks with furrowed brows and a small frown. There you were being a mess of thoughts again, your response making him question your current actions. You were staring at him again much to his discomfort. Were you dense toward his obvious wary attitude around you? Or were you ignoring the weak glares being sent your way?

He didn't realize he was staring right back at you.

He'd watch you, his own eyes fixated on you before he ends up embarrassed with your focused stare pinning him down. He would always be the first to look away. Andrew had so many contemplating questions about that mind of yours. No matter how many times he got an answer a new one would pop up. It was odd, the way you would sometimes fidget with your hands, blow a strand of hair away from your face, a spacey smile ‐ or a face close enough to be considered a smile, always settled on your lips.

The fact you were doing it around him made him grow even more puzzled. Those thoughts came after his questions, with the sudden realization that you were still so persistently hanging around him.

“Are you going to... leave?” Andrew asks with his hands clasped together on top of the table you share in the commons room. He would have sat farther from you, possibly even settled for the other side of the room. But even then, he would probably find himself stealing glances in your direction without knowing why. If you attempted to shuffle closer he wouldn't stop you, only grumbling about the fact there's much more space to pick from. Why did you choose the seat next to him? Why did you have to notice all the little things at this moment? Why were you commenting on the way he stiffened up when you got too close? Weren't you too busy in your own head to pay so much attention on him?

“I'm fine.”

Whether or not you called out his bluff didn't matter because the gravekeeper got up from his seat and left shortly after, hands still clasped in front of his chest as he feels himself speed walking down the hallway and away from you. He's not sure why he's even leaving in such a hurry. He just doesn't want your prying eyes on him anymore.

Andrew frowns to himself, a conflicted feeling bubbling in his stomach as he murmurs to himself.

Andrew could say you're too in the moment at times,

and other times, you aren't in the moment at all.

He got used to it after a while, a long while. He'd notice your change in pacing before they even occurred, recognizing the long pauses you would take when you drifted off, so that he'd snap his fingers in front of your face to pull you out of your trances. Andrew found those moments shifting from irritating and confusing to something much more standard. His feelings became more indifferent, albeit now tainted with a bit of worry. You made him question your whereabouts several times, notably whenever you turned up late to a meeting with him because you got distracted somewhere along the way.

Andrew found himself staring at you for longer periods of time whenever he spotted your eyes on him. He still always ended the prolonged eye contact first though, stammering complaints about your unnerving gaze, his face giving way to faint reddening when you parted your lips to question him.

He found himself changing and he didn't know if he liked it.

But... it also may not necessarily be a bad thing.

Andrew questions you again.

This time you two were under a tree, your time spent together being a regular occurrence by now. He couldn't exactly go under the sunlight as the fear and inconvenience of being sunburnt stopped him from doing so. He preferred the shade anyway, the heat was always too much. Even then, when he refuses to move from his sheltered spot, his eyes find themselves lingering over to you.

His head tilts to the side, his back pressed against the tree. Andrew noticed you were staring out into the scenery in front of you, that same absent look in your eyes. He didn't find any need to disturb you or break you away from your thoughts, since you two weren't having any previous conversation this time to begin with.

However, when you suddenly turned your head back at him to meet his gaze he found himself breaking out of his own trance, growing abruptly flustered at your glazed over yet distinct stare. “It's nothing.” Andrew answers when you curiously pry over his strange behavior, him placing a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide away.

He was so conflicted with himself.

Why? Why was he so conflicted in the first place?

Andrew turned his head back toward you after regaining his composure, but seeing that you were still staring made him want to turn away even faster than before. With a subconscious grumble escaping his throat he hid his head into his own arms, his knees pressed against his chest. Still, you kept your eyes trained on him. Except now, you had that certain distant fog in your eyes. Clearly spaced out again, most likely unaware that you were even staring at all. So, without thinking, already used to bringing you back to reality, Andrew moves a hand up to touch your nose, flicking the tip of it. Your reaction to the sudden action amused him silently for a few moments, until he realizes the physical touch he just initiated. Just like that, he's back to how he was seconds before, retracting his hand and letting the embarrassment of brief contact swallow him whole while you tilted your head in confusion.

There were still so many questions Andrew didn't have answers for. He didn't know if he ever would have the answers to some of them. However, he had made at least one certain conclusion after spending so much time with you. You may have endlessly confused him, but, somewhere along the way, your behavior had grown endearing rather than puzzling. Now, when he looked at you, he found that you were actually quite...

cute.

— end.

[nevermoreternity]

𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥.

"Love is a vague topic, but many find

themselves exploring it. What is love

to someone who expresses themselves

within a white canvas rather than through words?"

𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗣𝗦.

The first time you met the painter was during your childhood. Innocence and purity surrounded you, curiosity brimming with every step you took outside. Vast shades of green and yellow in the grass, to the giant blanketing blue sky above. It was all so vividly colorful. Your eyes took in every sight you could, with the wind blowing gently against your skin. Yet something even more colorful than the surroundings was the boy clutching onto a sheet of paper beside you. Originally it was simple and blank, a white void. But as a few minutes passed, an image formed like a huge burst of cheers applauding over the canvas, all done by small hands similar to your own.

Edgar - the boy's name - looked up at you with a confused expression on his face. He was a lot younger back then; both of you were. He held not a paintbrush but a crayon that day, the loose leaf paper acting as his canvas for his brightly colored drawing. "What're you staring at?" His voice was high pitched and childish, his hands gripping the most recent drawing he had created. Peering over to the paper, you noticed it depicted a portrait of a woman and child, recognizing the familial roles they seemed to have just from the way the boy drew them. Inquiring about the two human figures, you only got a simple huff and a nod for acknowledgement.

"Ella's still in bed — she's been frowning a lot lately." Edgar muttered as his gaze returned to the drawing. You watched from your seat beside the boy, the way his hands naturally moved as if driven by pure instinct, the relaxed posture he had despite the amount of curious stares he received from passing crowds. At the thought of Ella, Edgar's younger sister, one could recall that she had gotten sick just a few months ago, which eventually led to her being bedridden. As a result, you came across the young artist sketching landscapes and animals and people outside much more often.

He went outside to find inspiration, mentioning various times that Ella favors outdoor paintings despite clearly saying they're too 'boring' normally. Over time, you got more comfortable with approaching Edgar, and he seemed to feel the same, calling out to you from a distance whenever he spotted you at a park. This led to many of your hang outs, usually with the time spent simply sitting down together somewhere and watching nearby flowers sway in the breeze. It sounds a bit boring, but you were able to manage staying put or would find something else to entertain yourself with. By the time the sun went down, Edgar would pack up his materials and say his farewell. His final words before you both returned to your homes would be a small promise to meet in the same spot tomorrow.

For the next year, that is how your friendship developed. Through peaceful park meetings.

𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡.

When you meet Edgar again, your encounter ends up being within the halls of the Oletus manor. It was dusty and closed in, colors muted and bleeding out. It was stuffy and suffocating, the exact opposite of when you first met the man when you were kids. Edgar wouldn't approach you at first. You soon figured out this was an effort to purposefully ignore you, with the amount of times he ditched a room you walked into or find himself turning the other way whenever you crossed paths coincidentally. Only when time passed for a long enough time would you find yourself in a match with the brunette. Even then, he was adamant on looking the other way from your direction. The other people assigned to the team looked confused at the strange tension between you two. Emma leaned over at the table to ask if you two know each other. No matter what your answer would be, Edgar stubbornly kept his back turned, remaining quiet.

Once the match concluded, with the results being put out, Edgar finally approached you on a whim, in the make-shift clinic of the manor. His arms were crossed, and a frown was settled on his face, the red poncho he wore popping out from the dark walls around you. It was a much better shade of red than the thick color dripping down your hand from the wound you had acquired during the earlier match. It seemed neither of you wanted to speak yet, Edgar simply sighing before gesturing for your hand – a rather sudden request after having him avoid you like the plague. Still, you silently watched as he took ahold of your palm, looking over the wound with a tight frown before quietly patching you up. The gauze was wrapped a little too tightly in the end, inexperienced but surprisingly not lacking in care. The awkward tension hanging in the air lasted a couple seconds before the painter finally spoke. His first words to you since you spotted one another in the manor. "Why are you here?" Edgar would question with that familiar expression of his, a face he only makes that shows he demands answers. A look you'd last seen years ago.

In the end, after hearing your full explanation, he only grumbled. "That's stupid." He commented, brushing over your words. Edgar didn't explain his own reason for coming into the cursed cycle in the manor's game of life, only prompting more questions from you. In the end, he simply decided to leave with a huff, just as frowny and tense as he was when he appeared. He walked away in a series of small stomps, as if he was in a hurry to leave your presence. You noticed his hands were tightly gripping onto his own arms.

By the time the next morning came, you found yourself staring at a small piece of paper that had been slipped under your room door. The feeling of it was recognizable. Thin and flat and delicate. In the middle of the leaflet was a drawing of something you had mentioned you like to a specific someone way in the past, words that seemed more like a back-handed compliment scrawled on top of the page. It was easy to connect the dots on who had left this for you. Or well, the signature on the back confirmed everything you needed to know.

𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚.

Maybe it took a while, or maybe you already had your suspicions. Either way, you found yourself seeing Edgar more and more following that instance in the clinic. The reserved behavior he had about you crumbled more and more as more time passed, and sooner than expected, you two were back to what you were before as children. It had come to your attention - as he reluctantly explained - that he didn't believe it was you at first, not expecting to find such a familiar face in Oletus manor, much less yourself. Denial fueled his actions, not wanting to be wrong in his suspicions but not knowing what he'd do if he confirmed it was actually you. In the end, it didn't matter, because the moment he finally came close enough to see the colors in your hair and the shades of your eyes, he knew.

With all grievances and tensions dusted away, now you found yourself with a feeling of deja vu. Sat some feet from you was the brunette, a blank canvas before the man rather than a simple sheet of paper. In his hand was a paintbrush instead of a crayon, clear care and effort shown in his grip of the painting tool. He asked you to pose for his next idea on the aspect of portraits, offering a compromise for your time in one way or another. The silence of the room after was heavy yet comfortable. Only to be broken when the seemingly focused painter utters out a curt "Sorry" from his lips. The apology escaped in a hush, lingering and dissipating like the paint absently dripping onto the floor that Edgar seemed to pay no mind to. Even the man himself didn't seem to acknowledge his own muttering of the word, eyes only focused on the image he was creating of you.

The apology may have been regarding the time that had passed between the two friends, a period of time where Edgar begun expressing a side that acted more than it spoke — or perhaps he was apologizing for the lack of things he could provide for their friendship. Regardless, your reply to the brief apology only makes his hand halt for a moment. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and his brushing over the canvas seamlessly picks up once more. Edgar wasn't the best at expressing his thoughts or feelings with his tongue and tone. Rather, he expresses his care through the quiet acts of peace he finds, away from the laminating presence of the manor and its residents. In the end, it was easy to fall back into a routine with him again, his harsh sentences proving to be nothing but a shell when it came to you.

Sometime later, he confronts you with a proposal. He insists you to be his muse; a way for him to 'make up' for the lack of time you two spent apart for the years in the past. Really, it's an excuse for him to spend time with you that you both are aware isn't as subtle as he seemed to think in his head. But when the sky outside grows dark, and you leave him alone for the evening, you find yourself in the painter's room the very next day, peacefully posing for another portrait of his, various other paintings hung up around the room, all of them familiar sights to you.

— end.

[nevermoreternity]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗡. 𝗔𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗬𝗦𝗜𝗦.

"According to the tales, the postman

has made a reputation regarding

himself. Yet there are still many

mysteries surrounding him, which I'm

more interested in rather than the

secrets he's holding for others.

Now, who is Victor Grantz exactly?"

"Victor Grantz" is a name listed in two parts; a first name and a surname.

The first name of 'Victor' has many meanings depending on the country someone is born in. However, it has Latin origin which is translated to 'winner' or 'conqueror.' Despite the fact it's one of the earliest Christian names used by several saints and popes - representing Christ's Victory over sin and death - it is not associated directly with a biblical name. On the other hand, the last name of 'Grantz' is more often found in East Germany, which would often be used as a habitational name in various places in the north-eastern areas, named from Salvic grancia 'frontier border'.

"Victor Grantz is a support class character that is often said to be well rounded due to

the various buffs he holds. Overall a decent character to pick and master, however I

myself have read and wrote my own perspectives on his lore and personality. As any

other character made from the game, Victor's only semblance of lore and personality

would be from the deductions, letters, and sequences of events from others'

perspectives. Because of this, many write him according to their own thoughts

similar to the majority of other characters."

𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗘.

Victor was born in an unknown nation (implied to be Germany) and was born to anonymous parents. It is currently undecided on what happened to them or even who they are in terms of lore for Victor. Yet eventually, he would be scouted into the mafia to be their 'secret carrier' in which Victor would deliver various things for them. His main correspondent would be a man they called 'Big Daddy' who by this point is likely some higher up. Victor would have a routine with his dog Wick. Every time the bronze bell would ring in their town, they'd be ready to deliver mail. It's said that Victor delivered letters and packages to people that Big Daddy had connections with, always keeping his lips sewn shut whether from fear or the fact it was his responsibility.

We would soon find out that Victor ends up witnessing a tussle between a member of the mafia and a police officer. When he finds out, Big Daddy is far from happy about the altercation. Victor would become more anxious about his place in the world following the event, the sudden stability of his job being the only thing he's used to in life. At one point later on, there's a fire that takes place in a local house, resulting in the death of a police man and several individuals' injuries. Yet despite the dangers, Victor would end up running into the fire head first to help, able to contain it in the end due to his interference. Big Daddy would write various notes and monitoring records after the fire attempting to brush it aside, writing phrases such as "Everything's normal. But if the "Postman" won't keep his mouth shut, like the cop, I'll get rid of him too." and "Don't say anything. You stick out like a sore thumb. We won't mind burning that dog again."

It's implied that Big Daddy had caused the fire in an attempt to kill the police man mentioned beforehand. Clearly, this plan was successful, as the words in the ninth deduction 'Possession' would confirm the death of the policeman.

Victor's various translations about his character introduction give their own perspective on his persona, yet all of them start with the fact that Victor is 'strange' and they all end with him accepting the invitation to the Oletus manor with glee.

An obvious fact is that Victor, after reading his lore and simply just looking around, is someone who values written words over verbal communication. This is possibly due to his obsession with letters and his view on secrets because of his job and environment, leading to being considered mute by others. It's implied that he is selectively mute considering he does speak to Wick on different occasions.

Seemingly, the reason Victor went into the fire originally was because Wick was inside, as the note threatening Victor to keep quiet of the incident states the word 'again' which could mean many things. Has Victor gone through various threatening cases where Wick's life was on the line? Or is it simply a case of particular wording? I do personally believe Wick had been in that fire with the policeman, 'conveniently.'

In conclusion, Victor worked for the mafia. The letter sent from Oletus manor was his first letter ever received to himself which led him to easily head towards the location fully trusting the sender's sincerity.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘.

A man of secrets who holds things dearly. Having issues with being social yet craving for the sense of company much like others, Victor could be considered to have emotional unavailability. That along with a tendency to be apathetic at times, detachment from other people, and avoidance. Canonically he has scopophobia which is the fear of being stared at. This likely originated from his past in which he became paranoid due to working in the mafia. The other canon traits he has is being socially awkward, kind-hearted, and quiet. There's not much to go on with those few traits, but at the same time, there's many things that can connect to them.

He is considered SOCIALLY AWKWARD because of his inability and disinterest in having face-to-face conversations. Victor had mentioned himself that he had an obsession with watching others' expressions and feelings whenever they opened letters. I feel like we could say he's not the best chatter to converse with, but he is socially aware. I mean that in a way where he is likely more in-tune with others' emotions than he might realize, his brain always subconsciously seeking for that change of expression — from smiles shifting to frowns to eyes brimming with tears. Yet despite that, Victor would still struggle to let his own emotions out; an act of hypocrisy he's likely self-aware of.

KIND-HEARTEDNESS is a positive trait. It lines up with being empathetic, which I genuinely do think Victor is. However, he has cases of showing indifference when it comes to certain issues regarding humans rather than, for example, his dog. This could stem from the mafia as it seems like that environment was very much an 'all men for themselves' work space, which would lead him to be more 'selfish' regarding his survival. He'd be aware of someone's suffering and would merely watch from afar. Though I admit that sentence could be contradicted by the fire incident. The reason he did run inside however is implied to be due to Wick rather than the people trapped in the house, even though he does end up helping out more than likely planned, leading to cause many to trust him. A win-win scenario for everyone but his coworkers. He's a nice person at heart but it's just been snuffed out, whether because he's accustomed to surviving for himself or the fact he has trouble with expressing it, the manor game he was in showing more of that side.

Being QUIET is an expected trait. Whether it be the fact he's mute or just generally reserved. His past with secrets and the thought of paranoia whenever people talk or stare at him causes him to fall silent. It makes him the perfect person to be a secret keeper. Victor knew that and Big Daddy thought so as well. In a way, he's a bit of a push-over. I don't think he's that much of a people pleaser. Yes, he may be helpful, but would he bend his back over for someone? Not exactly. His level of being a 'pushover' originates from the fear of being replaced, lacking the sudden emotions people present to him so openly. It's a drug he's accustomed to. Take that away and he'd face his own shortcomings. Big Daddy makes it clear that he can and could replace him, and what's better to ensure that doesn't happen than to become quieter than a corpse? Victor would find out that fitting into a certain criteria, looking a certain part, and keeping low under the radar is the best way he can live his life 'peacefully', even if that peace is temporary. He'll try to postpone the end as much as he can.

Overall Victor's main issue is that he's so attached to letters, in particular, the words and straightforwardness of them. Of course we all know someone can easily write up a fake sounding sentence to appear as something they aren't. Such as a not so sincere apology. But to Victor, he treasures the experience, as he doesn't view it to have any hidden meanings. With actual conversations, there's many things a person needs to keep aware of. The tone of the words, the current topic, the sentence suddenly leading to a different shift in the discussion. All those are hard to keep track of especially if one's not used to it. Letters allow Victor to read back easily the words in front of him instead of asking the person to repeat themselves. It's an easier solution and a much kinder way to express himself rather than face the eyes of the person staring at him as he attempts a half thought-out response.

He's gullible and a bit naive due to putting so much trust in written words. But as I have thought before, it isn't really his fault. Much like issues the other characters face. With the implied lack of proper care given from his parents and anyone else to support him, the closest support being Wick, he's easily influenced. In a sense, I believe Victor likes animals so much because of the fact they don't 'lie' or 'pretend' like people do. If a cat doesn't like what you're doing, it'll hiss. If a dog wants your attention, it'd bark — I think that's his logic. It's understandable and a bit pathetic. That's also why he clung onto the letter sent by the manor so much. It was his first letter he received to himself, not written to anyone else, nor written by his own hands, someone actually wrote something and knew about him enough to want to reach out to him. You can tell how alone Victor truly is despite the fact he's able to live every day with food and a home. He's still incredibly alone and isolated, writing letters to himself because of the lack of his own partner to send one back to him.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦.

Regarding the symbolic part of his character, I feel like he's very contradictory in a positive way. He's mute yet words become his way of expressing thoughts and feelings. He doesn't like being vulnerable but wants others to trust him with secrets. He wants someone to write him letters but struggles to make connections. In a sense it's relatable, the idea of wanting someone loyal to you and to trust you fully, matched with the fear and paranoia of 'what if' scenarios resulting in a lack of action. Within canon he's part of group three, which honestly is a whole other topic and separate post.

Victor was still the 'main' person in that group, the vital connection. As a postman he made it his own duty to deliver the various communications within notes from the other three. Not having an issue with the rule of not speaking and probably fostering himself into it as soon as the cycle he was so comfortable with began again. There are notable moments where his past came back, like when he was found by Ganji. His body instinctively went into a defensive or submissive position as he mentions that he was reminded of another 'unpleasant person' within the interaction — a reference to Big Daddy, maybe even implying he would be physically beat with how small the actions were. If you read his full lore it's easy to notice the connections.

I find it very ironic he died in a fire, with his inability to let go of the things he held most dear to him, secrets written within sheets of paper. The first fire he had survived and was considered to be a hero. The second time around, he didn't have any thoughts except to make sure something else, the letter, was safe before his own survival. It led to his head being lit in literal flames. I was very distraught about the death when the news first released, although it was expected. The fact he was connected to fire in the first place is easily overlooked. Victor doesn't have a fear of fire which I would assume he would have. The things he loves the most being paper, which can be easily burnt, the fact he had to save Wick multiple times from the threat of being burnt, and even the fact of the original house fire he had gone into was likely not his first time with flames. I think these experiences led to why he bolted into the fire in the manor.

Victor could've been used to the fraying of his clothes and the smoke in his lungs but he wasn't used to actually having letters burn. Letters were important to Big Daddy too if you think about it. He wouldn't just burn important secrets so he decided to burn the second closest thing to Victor's heart which was Wick. So with that mindset, he ran straight into the fire. But this time, the last time, he couldn't make it out. It's unknown if something fell and trapped him or if he just gave up on escaping, possibly tired of running. Running metaphorically or even literally. Victor has run from most of his problems, being silent about his issues, attempting to please his peers, and being kept in his comfort zone for so long. This is only up to his second-to-last letter entry, so when the last one appears in a few months, this'll likely be updated.

"In the end, Victor Grantz was a

person filled with contradictions,

a man who wished for a change

yet couldn't escape the cycle he

was so selfishly trying to keep."

— analysis end.

[nevermoreternity]

𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 ..

"Welcome, I see you've received my letter."

In this mandatory introduction I'll be introducing myself as well as the formats and writing I'll be offering within this blog. You may know me as 'Orpheus' as the pen name and character is the theme for this whole blog. You may refer to me by any pronouns you wish, my goal here is to share my ideas and other thoughts with the community. There are two other people that are helping me to edit and look through certain aspects, you can call them 'Alice' and 'Memory.'

This blog will be catering towards various things, discussions and theories, character analysis and depth, and lore. It'll also be posting ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎headcanons and imagines ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ when requested, mainly reader due to shipping discourse (however you're free to request but it'll be to my own preferences.) Please note I do not associate with shipping hunters and survivors, so if you ship those do not speak about them to ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ me. The requested for imagines slash headcanons will be strictly gender neutral for the sake of everyone, I want it to be all inclusive so even the readers dialog will be rare to see. Updates will come and go, I prefer writing quality and length over quantity but I'll likely write ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎something ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎up ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ when ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I'm ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ inspired.

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NSFW and other controversial topics, will not ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎be tolerated or written in this ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ blog. Trigger warnings ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ will be put into the tags and start before the cut, please be aware of each one ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎for your own ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎safety if you're ‎ ‎ triggered or uncomfortable by anything. This space will hopefully be a safe small community for those ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ who share ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎common ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎interests, as well as a informative center if ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you're struggling with ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎identity v's vague description ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎of ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ each ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎character.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ .. 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎— requests are open.